Stille Nacht
by crockywock
Summary: An uncomfortable Christmas for Severus Snape, inspired by Lord Voldemort's famous words: 'One, who I believe has left me forever. He will be killed, of course.' PreOotP. FINISHED.
1. Chapter 1

**Stille Nacht**

People. Everywhere. The night is cold. Not freezing, but they are all wearing scarves and gloves. And I am not. Lights, lights, lights, and the smell of food. Hot food. Everywhere. I try to concentrate on the lights, but the food is stronger. Every two or three minutes I glance at the sizzling sausages, steaming dumplings (yeast dumplings - the ones you would only find at a Christmas market) and watch people queueing at the stands where they sell fries, hot drinks and sweets of all sorts. Only inches away from me they sell Fish & Chips - or what Germans _think_ Fish & Chips is. It does not look like the real thing at all.

But I am doing it again. I am once more thinking of the place I do absolutely not want to think about, though it has been penetrating my mind every minute, every second I have spent at this rotten place called Hamburg: I am thinking of England.

A woman catches my eye. An elderly, overweight lady, who sells mulled wine at the stand in front of me. She addresses me. Waits for an answer - obviously. Bloody witch... though - probably not, come to think of it. I shrug. She keeps talking.  
Do you think I can understand a word you are saying? She is obviously making an effort to sell me some wine. I decline. Politely, but with a stomach-ache. Hot liquids. Steaming liquids. Steaming cauldrons. Potions. How long has it been now - a month?

A jazz band plays "In A Sentimental Mood". A group of young people - students perhaps, who enjoy their performance so much that they do not notice the audience has stopped listening long ago. Still better than the single violinist this afternoon. Unbearably awful that one. I had difficulties keeping myself from walking over and strangling the indefatigable little brat. But I had been too hungry anyway. I still am. The woman gives me a last glance, then I walk over to a sweets stand.

Big mistake.  
A chubby-faced, middle-aged man buys enough sweets to feed a family for a month. Or maybe he is just making provisions for the journey home. In case he starves. I try to look indifferent, but cannot take my eyes off the huge lumps of candy-floss that are sticking out of his bag. Give it to me! Give it to me!  
He walks away. Fat ass! Can't you recognize a hungry man when you see one? Though - I wouldn't have taken it anyway.

The band has stopped playing. Some people clap, but I can see right through them. They just hope for the music to stop so that they can get back to their Christmas shopping. One of the students takes a step forward. Don't sing! Please don't sing!  
He sings. I leave.

A bit further down the street I suddenly come across another of those red cloaked figures who, under their ridiculous red hood, so strongly remind me of the very person I had hoped to be able to forget.  
A false-bearded Dumbledore steps in my way and gives me a huge, false smile.

"Merrry Chrristmas," he says and adds some German gossip - or is it Chinese? He opens his huge sack and lets me have a look. Food? Toys. I will not sink this low.

"No, thank you!"

To my great surprise a gleam of recognition appears at his face. "Ah, Amerrican?"

You do not want to know what I'd do to you if I still had my wand. Another painful memory. I frown.

"British."

"Oh, sorrry." He is trying to be polite. So am I. But it is getting harder with every hour you haven't eaten. "Vere exactly do you come frrom?"

"Hogwarts," I reply with a nasty grin. He considers for a moment.

"I have perhaps heard sat alrready."

No, you haven't. "Yes, perhaps."

I can do this. All it takes is determination. Am I a Slytherin or not? I will get you to buy me some food in no time - or a cup of coffee at least.

"I vas only in England once before," he says, "vis my vife. Ve vere in Shottland."

Make up your mind, you stupid bastard. Polite. Polite! "Scotland, indeed? It is quite cold, isn't it?"

"Oh yes, but ve still liked it."

"Glad to hear it."

He nods and turns. Hello!?! You are supposed to feed me, Santa. But he seems to think the conversation is over. And I will certainly not beg.

I move. Have to. Otherwise my legs will go numb again. I slide down the precinct, probably resembling a giant, black cat or anything, trying to ignore the people and (most of all) the food. I imagine what it must be like to watch myself from a different angle - a broom, perhaps. It is disgusting. An ominous black figure, moving through the city of Hamburg in the middle of December, struggling not to die of cold and hunger. Pitiful? Hardly. Rather despicable and pathetic. I hate myself for this.

"Four or five days," had been his words. "A week, perhaps, and you'll be sobbing in the snow, pleading for mercy... ready to die!" Had he guessed the truth? How long would I be able to bear this?

A child catches my eye. A girl. She is holding her father's hand, who is queuing at one of the many stands, obviously bored. Poor maltreated child. How long has your father been dragging you through the cold now? Three hours? Four? This is what I call cruel. Who's complaining about my teaching methods? I imagine Potter in her position and cannot help grinning at the thought.

By a mere chance, the girl raises her head, sees me and smiles. I nod slightly. The girl puts her little arms around her shoulders signalling, "Cold, isn't it?"

I nod again. She smiles once more. I decide to escape the situation. This short period of time, however, has had its effect on my stiff body. I realise that my feet have frozen, only when it is too late. I stumble. I fall.

The damage is done. "Ooh," cries the girl. "Puppy, cook!"

It takes a while for me to realise whom she is talking to. I lift up quickly, looking very superior, though soggy. The man gives me a scrutinizing look. Our eyes meet for a second. Then he turns and says something to his daughter, assuming a most contemptuous tone, making her leave without looking back. He shouts something at me which I do not understand, of course, but which is still unmistakably rude. I am seething with rage and reach for my wand.

Only that I haven't got one.

The child vanishes from my view. So does her father. Hatred such as I have never known creeps up from the inside of my stomach. And helplessness. Complete helplessness. I hate being defeated! A feeling, which I have not felt for a very long time - is it vulnerability? - makes me clutch my fists and bare my teeth.

"Control yourself," I silently command, "or you'll be exactly where he wants you."

But it is difficult. I can hardly move, my face is red of cold, I have not had a proper meal for more than three days and people treat me like scum. I can hear the jazz band again.

"Someveeeeeere over se rrrainbow."

Something makes me want to throw an object of considerable weight at the singer's head. But I don't. I continue walking.


	2. Chapter 2

As time passes, the number of people at the stands and in front of the shop windows decreases. It is ten o'clock already. I have reached a huge artificial lake in the middle of the city, next to a big road, where another ten or twenty stands have been placed. My hunger is painful now. I see a beggar sitting underneath a huge poster showing Christmas advertising. Father Christmas, wearing not his usual red but emerald green robes. This is painful again. I close my eyes. Memories return and smash my head like Bludgers:

A dark castle. The screams of people. People I know. And the smell of blood. Is she among them? Who could tell? I wait. A day, two days. the Dark Lord takes his time. But he comes, eventually. Accompanied by his followers and... her.

"Minerva." I whisper. She attempts to speak. Unsuccessfully. "What have you done to her, you bastard?" I am beaten.

"Stop it, you fool! I won't have this inappropriate kind of behaviour inside my castle! Save it for the Muggles!"

Muttering. I feel a wand against my chest. "If I have to ask again, Severus, you won't survive the day. Nor will this one." They tie her up where I can see it.

"Don't tell," she whispers. "Whatever they do, don't..."

"Crucio!" She screams. I groan and close my eyes. But the torture continues. Her piercing screams seem to tear me apart.

"Stop, stop!" I can hear myself yelling, but the screaming continues.

"The hiding place," Lord Voldemort demands. I bit my lip. Try to break the chains, but keep my eyes shut. "Where is Albus Dumbledore?!?" I can't breath. Can't think. Mustn't tell! Mustn't let them kill her!

The screaming stops.

"NO!"

I feel my chains loosening. Fall on my knees and crawl forward. She is still breathing, but only just. Her face is as pale as my hand when I touch her cheek. I am crying.

"Tell me!"

I look up. The Dark Lord's face is glowing, his wand still directed at the unconscious Minerva. "I will not ask another time!"

"NEVER!"

"Crucio!"

"Stop! Please stop!" I hold her trembling body. She is too weak to scream.

"Will you tell me what I want to hear?"

"Yes - anything!"

A flash of blinding green light.

"Gather round, gather round! We want the picture to look perfect, don't we? Now look at Santa and smile! That's good. Thank you so much, Santa!" Suddenly the place is full of small children. American students. None of them higher than my waist.

"Are you another Santa?" one of the boys asks me. I give him a puzzled look.

"Now, Marc, you know you mustn't talk to strangers," his teacher rebukes him.

"But he looks a lot more like my idea of Santa," the boy retorts. The teacher is not pleased.

"No, he does not," she says. "Santa is wearing a red hat. But apart from that - look at him! He cannot even understand a word you're saying." She gives me a very contemptuous look. "He is not educated, you know."

"Mind your attitude, Madame," I reply in a soft and dangerous voice. "I am in possession of abilities so powerful they make the mere education you perhaps received look like nothing at all!"

"See?" the boy grins. "I told you he was Santa!"

"Oh," the teacher says without dropping her contemptuous tone, "British, are you?" I do not reply. I am watching the boy who apprehensively stares back. His face is glowing.

"Stupid boy!" I snap. "What are you staring at? There is no Santa Clause! Surely you don't believe in rubbish like that?"

The child's face changes. His big, dark eyes are close to tears. "B-b-but..."

"Bugger off!"

"Excuse me?" the teacher shrieks. "You are talking to a child here!" I give her the most evil smile imginable, thinking that I have not had so much fun since my arrival a few days ago.

"I do not blame him for being a complete idiot. I daresay it is hardly a student's fault if their teacher happens to be a brainless self-righteous bitch." And with this I turn and leave the place.


	3. Chapter 3

It has begun to snow again. The lake is glittering - a huge part of it has turned to ice already, but although it is appallingly cold there are still some birds sitting near (and on top) of the huge Christmas tree, which has been placed on a small platform in the middle of the lake. I watch them and get lost in thoughts again. There are not many people around now, so no one minds me standing at the balustrade that surrounds the lake all by myself, staring into the dark, shimmering water.

"Severus!" I can hear a voice. A small voice, as if from a huge distance - another time, perhaps. I don't turn.

"Yes," I mutter, "I am here."

"Severus," the voice says again, "you have failed me."

"But how, Headmaster?" I answer as calmly as possible. "What could I have done? Surely you know that I have tried everything I could to save her?" Dumbledore doesn't reply. He bends over the balustrade next to me and stares into the water as well.

"You have failed me," he repeats after some time. "You were ready to give me away!"

I stare at him. "But not... only for a second - I'd never have... I didn't, after all!"

He sighs. Looks older than ever. "Minerva is dead."

I nod. "I couldn't... He killed her although I had agreed to... You know the Dark Lord, Headmaster, you know exactly what he is like!" He remains silent once more. I want to grab his shoulder - make him understand, but I dare not.

"I am very disappointed," he says. I stare at him.

"What do you mean?"

"You have ruined everything," he replies. "You are responsible for the destruction of our world!"

"No, I am not!" I reply furiously and raise from the balustrade. "He is! You said so yourself. More than once!"

"You are the one to blame," he repeats with a sad voice. "We could have succeeded if it hadn't been for you."

"No!" I grab his arm. Want to look into his eyes, but he disapparates. Vanishes before my very eyes so that I do not even get the chance to defend myself.

I grip the balustrade. Breathe heavily. Can this be true? Can all this be happening? Couldn't it just be a dream, meaning I'd wake in a few minutes time? Isn't it possible that I am still at Hogwarts, in the middle of a nerve-racking term being the reason for this nightmare?

I open my eyes again. Can see more clearly now. I must move again. This horrible cold seems to affect my mind already. If I am lucky, there is some hot tea left at the stands of the Christmas market. Just like yesterday. And the day before. That'll prevent my death for a while. But where can I go? I will definitely not survive another twenty-four hours outside. The air is not cold but frosty. This is most probably the year's coldest night. So what can I do?

I become aware of a pair of girls. They are standing at the opposite side of the street and give me most funny looks. They talk and every now and then they giggle. Are they making fun of me? Both are wearing coats. The taller one's is green, the other one's black. They have gloves, and most of all: they are wearing scarves. Green scarves, very similar to the ones belonging to the Slytherin school robes, only that they look a lot warmer and more comfortable, which is why I instinctively allow myself to gaze at them a little bit longer than would have been appropriate in this situation.

The girls look back. They have noticed my look. I cannot take my eyes off them. Why do they have woollen scarves and I have not? I clutch my fists. They feel as numb as ever. After a few minutes the girls make up their minds. They cross the street, heading exactly towards the place where I stand. I have to leave! But I cannot. My feet have eventually grown so stiff it seems impossible that I will be able to move them again before summer. I am stuck. The girls approach.

Suddenly I realise that they are not walking towards me. Thank Merlin. They stop a couple of inches away from me in front of a huge poster showing two towers in a shadowy environment. "Der Herr der Ringe" it says, and I try to remember if this sounds familiar in any way. It does not. I frown.

"What a shame they have taken them off," one of the girls (the green one) says. "This one's boring." The black cloaked one nods.

"Though the German one wasn't really good either. Anyway, you know what I think. They should have spent their time on posters of a certain person rather than on boring Daniel, Rupert and Emma, if you know what I mean." The first one nods and they giggle. I haven't got a clue what they are talking about. Both are Germans, obviously. But they talk English, which cheers me up a bit, though I am most curious what they do it for. But there seems to be some justice in the world, after all. I can ask them if they know a place where I could spend the night.

"Wouldn't it be nice," the smaller girl now says before I can make up my mind to approach them, "to meet him in person? I mean - have you ever been more curious about someone than about Snape?"

I stop dead. Don't know if I have heard the last sentence correctly. The other girl sighs and giggles.

"Never," she replies. "But I think I'd die if he stood right in front of me." She catches my eye and I look away quickly. They giggle again.

"Let's go home," I hear. "It's getting cold out here, isn't it?" I raise my head, but they have turned already and walk towards the tube station.

I want to shout after them: "Here I am!" But of course, they cannot have been talking about me. We have never met.

"You sure you are not losing you mind, Severus?" a voice behind me says. "You don't look too good." It is him. I turn.

"Master..." An automatic reaction. I hate myself for this.

"I can understand this is a very difficult situation for you, Severus," he says winningly. "You have been associating with Albus Dumbledore's for far too long. You do not know what's good for you anymore." I have heard this before.

"Will you let me return?" I mutter, "I've been waiting for nothing but your call ever since."

"All you have to do is to give away your so-called friend Dumbledore's whereabouts," he replies softly. "That's all I've ever wanted. And it might be just enough to make me give you a second chance." I hold my breath. He knows. That's why he kept me alive. He is playing with me. I will not be able fool him.

"You know." I state quietly. I feel there's no need for secrecy anymore.

"I do indeed," he replies. "Why did you think you are still alive? Thought I wanted to chat about the good old times, did you?"

I do some very quick thinking.

"You have devoted your life to me," he hisses. "Long before you made friends with that Muggle-loving fool who cannot even take responsibility for his own actions but has to pass it on to you."

"B-but."

"You owe me something, Severus!" His voice takes a menacing tone. I take a step backwards.

"No! I am indebted to no one! And I will NOT betray Professor Dumbledore!" With an almost casual movement he takes out his wand.

"Do I really have to make you?"

"You won't be able to!"

"You know the procedure, Severus. You tend to lose this kind of foolish self-confidence after the first five minutes of pain." He smiles and I take another step back.

"You're brave against an unarmed man," I say, fully aware that my voice gives away my fear.

"I tend to use whatever means necessary to achieve my ends, Severus," he replies and points his wand at me. "Crucio!" 

The illusion vanishes. I stumble. Fall into the muddy snow. A memory. Another one. I just relived the day of my capture. For a couple of minutes I just stay where I am. Lying in the snow, panting. Someone kicks me.

"Ey, bistew toht?" I raise slowly. My face is covered with mud and I am all soggy. But that doesn't matter now.

"Sorry," I mutter and vanish behind a corner. I have difficulty walking. What time is it? Feels like it is past midnight again. A church clock strikes eleven times. I return to the Christmas market.


	4. Chapter 4

There're still people around. Just a few. And food. The smell of burnt fat urges me forward. "Why me, Headmaster?"

"Because you are someone I trust."

"I know that."

"The Fidelius Charm is highly complicated, Severus. It is a burden to both, the hidden person and the Secret Keeper. I felt that you were one of the last remaining people who had the strength to do this. But it is your choice, of course."

"If you think it wise, Headmaster, I shall of course not decline."

"This is a matter of tremendous importance, Severus. We might have to rely merely on your strength of mind at some point of the war. If you do not want to do this I will more than understand."

"Don't worry, Headmaster, I won't let you down."

At the stall in front of me some blokes play cards and drink beer. My head hurts. I dare not come nearer. One of them sees me and produces a friendly smile. Says something I cannot understand. He must have seen me before.

"Beer?", the barman offers. I nod and he gives me some. Of course, they are aware that I won't be able to pay for it. Or are they? The drink is nice and comforting. They offer me another one. And a third. I droll into a deep, lukewarm sleep, which seems to last for at least twenty hours. I have weird dreams.

One of them makes me believe I am Harry Potter, strolling along the endless corridors of a castle, which I clearly recognize as the Dark Lord's residence. I am afraid, but nevertheless determined. And then I can see myself. Severus Snape. I am screaming. The Dark Lord tortures me. But I am Harry Potter, so I can't feel it. Where have I seen this before? They are bringing a woman in emerald green robes... it is painful. More painful than the curse. I cry, cry, cry...

"Hey, man! I close now. You have to pay the three beers."

Someone pokes my arm. The castle vanishes. "What?"

"You have to pay. I want to go home!"

"But I don't have... you invited me, didn't you?"

He gives me a severe look.

"I don't have any money," I tell him. "I thought you..."

"You mean you can't pay?" He curses. In German. This gives me back my full memory.

"Listen," I say, "I'd give you something in return. Only that I don't possess anything."

The man nods slowly. Hasn't understood a word I was saying. He is obviously about to explode. Must have had a bad day. I try to get up and find that my damp cloak has turned into a massive block of ice. I am trembling of cold, my skin has taken the colour of mouldy milk and I cannot feel any part of my body except my head. When he freaks out and beats me up I don't even notice the pain. All I notice is that I am slowly, but steadily freezing. He still kicks me when I have long stopped defending myself, shouting things like, "Bloody foreigners", "Scheißjob" and "Scheißkälte".

I am lying in the snow once more, dirty all over and convinced that, this time, I will die.

"You cannot die, Severus," Dumbledore interrupts a most satisfying dream involving Harry Potter and a school cane. "We are nearly there."

"You said I have failed you," I whisper.

"I thought you had," he replies, "but I was mistaken. Minerva told me the truth."

"B-but Minerva is... she is dead, isn't she?"

"Why, of course she is," the headmaster says thoughtfully. "I must have forgotten."

I awake with a start. There is a fire in front of me. Using all my strength I try to open my eyes again, only to see Lucius Malfoy sitting in front of the closed beer stall, smiling in a way I cannot define as good or bad.

"Severus," he says. "How are you?"

"Cold," I mean to reply, but my voice fails me.

Lucius gives a derisive snort, gets up and comes closer. "I have come to tell you that the war is over, Severus. Dumbledore is defeated." I stare at him in disbelief.

"You are lying!"

"You know I am serious about these things," he replies. "You know that, don't you, Severus?" My hands are trembling and I try to get up.

"What... what have you come for?"

"I am here on the Dark Lord's service," Lucius says calmly. "He wants to know if you still want your second chance!"

"What?"

"You heard me correctly." A contemptuous smile appears at his sallow face. "He wants you back. Personally, I would have killed you long before, but he seems to have his reasons."

"He wants me to rejoin his side?"

"Indeed, he does."

"Ridiculous! He'd never suggest something like that. I turned my back on him!"

"Ah, but you also made up for it," Lucius replies as calmly as ever. "If it hadn't been for your honest wish to give away Dumbledore's hiding place, none of us would have been able to find him, eventually."

I gasp. "My what?"

He smirks. Not intentionally, obviously, but something about this seems so funny not even Lucius Malfoy is able to keep up his indifferent expression. "Surely you knew that your mere intent to betray him was more than enough for our master to get all the information he needed?"

Another memory floats into my mind: I am sitting on the floor, holding Minerva. The Dark Lord has just released her from the curse.

"Yes - anything! I'll say anything!" He smiles. Outstretches his hand. His arm. Grabs me. Grabs inside me. And then it is over. It has lasted barely a second, and yet - how could I have failed to realise what it had meant?

"He took it from me," I whisper. "Right before he killed her." Lucius raises an eyebrow.

"Fascinating, isn't it? How simply those spells can be tricked? But our master is a genius, of course. We all knew that."

I try to get up. To my great surprise I succeed. All limbs aching I stand in front of Lucius, my former tutor and best friend and stare right into his face.

"Tell your master I'd rather die than rejoin him!"

"He won't be pleased. Seems that for once I was right about you and he was not. I'll deliver your message with pleasure." He smirks. Turns, but stops as a thought strikes him. "Oh, and..." he turns again, "...he asked me to bring a little souvenir in case you declined. Do you mind? It's all soggy anyway."

And with a wave of his wand he takes my cloak, which leaves me half-naked and trembling of cold. I stumble once more so that I am kneeling before him now. "You - you can't..."

"I told the Dark Lord that freezing was a far too merciful death for a traitor like you," he says now with unconcealed disgust in his voice. "Do you want to know what he replied to that? He said, 'You'll understand, Lucius, as soon as you see his despicable remains sitting in the snow, shivering of cold.' And guess what? He was right." And he vanishes.

Hours pass. Have I been sleeping? Dying and resurrecting? I can feel some parts of my body again, but there is no difference between the beaten and the frozen limbs. Moving is painful. Let's just stay here and die. Ha! As if I had the choice. I feel a tiny treat of the old sarcasm return. But it does not last very long. It is too cold. I crouch down a sheltered corner, quivering... sobbing. Luckily, at this time of night no one comes down this street anymore. I feel that being seen in this condition would be worse than just freezing on a Muggle doorstep. And then I hear whistling. I freeze. (Except that I am nearly frozen, anyway.) How on earth can that be? Someone is coming down the street. At this time of night? I cannot believe my luck.

A figure appears. "Hi there!" Can it be...

"What are you doing here?"

"Coming to get you."

"You mean..." Only now I recognize him. It is _not_ Harry.

"Do you want to stay here forever?" he asks. "It is much warmer where I come from, you know. And you've got someone to talk to. Minerva has been asking for you all evening."

I nod. Suddenly, I feel I can go anywhere. With or without my cloak. But I am wearing it again. I feel neither cold nor pain and I have no difficulties getting up, leaving behind a more or less pitiful half-naked figure in the snow. But I don't care.

"Where did you say we are going?"

He doesn't reply. Instead, he extends his hand and to my own great surprise I take it without hesitating. There's another feeling I do not seem to possess anymore, though it is not a physical one. Can angels hate?


End file.
